


The Handkerchief

by MordorIsCalling



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dwarf Culture & Customs, I basically wrote this because I wanted some absolutely miserable Thorin pining, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Thorin, Pining, Post-Battle of Five Armies, obviously, so much pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22020085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MordorIsCalling/pseuds/MordorIsCalling
Summary: Thorin unclenched his palm and straightened the handkerchief between his hands. It was but a simple thing - just a white cloth with blue flowery patterns at the edges. It was not in the best state, either; it had lost much of its colour and some stains wouldn’t wash off, no matter how hard Thorin tried. Despite his best efforts, it was becoming rather battered indeed.After all, it had been three years.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 92
Kudos: 660





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Most Sensible Idea](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2286363) by [HildyJ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HildyJ/pseuds/HildyJ). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everybody! <3 May the year 2020 be kind to you all! :D 
> 
> As you can see, HildyJ's amazing story inspired me to write this fic. In "A Most Sensible Idea" Thorin, at one point, steals Bilbo's handkerchief because he's hopelessly in love with him (but is to marry Frodo). This struck me as awfully romantic and totally what lovesick Thorin would do, and I kept thinking about it for a long time. As a result, the idea for this fic was born, and since I _finally_ found some time on my hands recently, I was wholly overtaken by the urge to _write._ So I've been writing like crazy, fuelled by the need for some delicious pining, and created this little (or actually not so little) unnecessary story. Beware, though, for it seems that Thorin has drunk more than one portion of A True Dramatic Bitch elixir. 
> 
> (Please also note that this work is un-beta'd. If you spot any mistakes, don't hesitate to point them out to me).
> 
> Hope you enjoy! :3

It was a truth well-known that any king was constantly talked about by the whole of his kingdom. Such was also the case with Thorin II Oakenshield of the line of Durin, the King Under the Mountain. His people praised him highly, with reverence, for he was a true hero among them, beloved by all for his deed of reclaiming Erebor three years ago. The kingdom now enjoyed growing prosperity and peace under his just rule, yet the inhabitants of the Lonely Mountain could not help but notice there was something... strange about their King. The problem was that His Majesty would often come off as... too reserved. Oddly aloof.

Some said that it might be a symptom of the dragon sickness still infesting his mind, but such whispers would fall on deaf ears – it was common knowledge the King hadn’t been seen near the treasury since the Battle. Others argued that he had always been like this and there was nothing to worry about. But then, no one could deny that something was indeed... off about him. The nobles even gossiped that it seemed just as if his mind was constantly wandering elsewhere.

No matter what was gossiped about him, though, the strangest thing about the King, and a riddle unresolved, remained the mystery of The Handkerchief. 

This curious affair had been noticed by a larger number of people around two years ago. With more and more dwarves moving to the Mountain, the royals could finally take on servants. They, together with the nobles close the King, had then taken note of his peculiar behaviour; not once or twice had they walked on him just to see him fiddling with some piece of cloth in between his fingers. However, as soon as the King noticed someone else’s presence, he would hide the cloth in one of the inside breast pockets of his garments without a word.

The cloth had been suspected to be a handkerchief from the start, as that had been a sensible enough guess, but it had been confirmed by one of the maids only a while ago. 

_“I was to deliver supper to His Majesty’s study. I knocked on the door and was allowed to enter, and there our king sat, by the table, papers all around,” she would spin the tale, and there were many willing to listen, “as I approached, he asked me to put the trace down on the table, but I must tell you, it wasn’t all that easy, with all the parchment piled everywhere! So I had to look closely for any free spot and that was when I saw it! Right next to his hand, there was the handkerchief! A dirty thing it was, may I add. When I finally managed to lay the trace down, I asked if I should take the cloth for washing. Oh, he measured me with such a formidable stare, I now don’t envy anyone who actually witnessed his wrath! So there I stood, scared out of my wits I must admit, worrying how much I’d overstepped, yet he only said, ‘no, it is not for washing, miss Wykker’, and then dismissed me.”_

Wykker’s story set a true fire of gossip aflame. Many, if not most, now speculated about the little cloth. Was it important to the King? If so, why? Did it belong to him or to someone else? Someone important, perhaps? If so, who was it? Or had been? 

As there wasn’t any answer to those questions, the debate went on. Some said there must’ve been someone important to the King. Few even dared to assume that somebody had stirred His Majesty’s heart. Others just claimed that the handkerchief simply belonged to the King and the whole fuss was more than unnecessary. 

Little did everyone know that there _was_ a person who was the missing puzzle of this riddle. Better yet, unknown to everybody in the Mountain, said individual was now on their way, travelling to nowhere but Erebor herself. 

*** 

He stroked the soft material with his thumb, crumpling the rest of the cloth in his fist. 

Reaching for the handkerchief had become an almost unconscious habit. He did it whenever he could throughout the day when having at least some privacy. Those occasions weren’t that frequent, usually only happened when he went to sleep, but after being left alone with his thoughts, his mind would always wander to the kindly West at some point. 

To the exceptional creature that lived there.

Thorin unclenched his palm and straightened the handkerchief between his hands. It was but a simple thing - just a white cloth with blue flowery patterns at the edges. It was not in the best state, either; it had lost much of its colour and some stains wouldn’t wash off, no matter how hard Thorin tried. Despite his best efforts, it was becoming rather battered indeed. 

After all, it had been three years. 

He often wondered how Bilbo had come by this thing. He remembered the Hobbit complaining about forgetting a handkerchief for the majority of their journey. Then, out of the blue, Bilbo had had one in Laketown. Thorin hadn’t managed to ask about it and hadn’t noticed the Hobbit use it for a long time after that. It had been only after the Battle that Bilbo had dried Thorin’s sweated brow with the little cloth. 

Thorin recalled this happening only barely. His memory of that time had been fogged by the fever that had developed due to infection in his wounds. Yet, he remembered how, after Bilbo had laid the handkerchief on the bedside table and left the room in haste because of being called by someone, Thorin’s feverish mind had told him to seize the cloth and always keep it close, for reasons he could not then comprehend. 

At that time, Thorin could not understand his strong desire to have Bilbo stay, even though he had known very well that the Hobbit would go back home. The urge to have Bilbo nearby had taken him by surprise, as had the pain that Bilbo had caused him when he had left with the Wizard, a month after the Battle, as soon as Thorin’s and his nephews’ survival had been secured. 

He hadn’t recognized the feeling soon enough, a fool that he was. He had been too focused on the Quest and Erebor to give his own heart a second thought. 

On the course of their journey, as Bilbo had helped them time and time again, Thorin had found himself more and more thankful for having the Hobbit there with them. This gratitude had only kept growing, and as he and Bilbo had begun spending more time together, getting to know each other, it had become an all-encompassing warmth that would always explode in his chest at the very sight of the Hobbit.

Even in his gold-sickness, he had been as obsessed with Bilbo as he had been with the treasure. _And_ the shock of Bilbo’s betrayal had been what had shaken him out of his madness. All of this should’ve been telling enough. He should’ve known. Yet he had realized what he had been feeling only _after_ Bilbo's departure.

Thorin had had his heart stirred by another. 

It was not so common among his race. Many children of Aulë did not engage in such matters. They only fire that lit their bodies more often than not was the burning want for creating utmost beauty and perfection, for the children of Aulë often strived for grandeur. 

To them, it often meant riches mined from stone. The jewels and metals of all kinds were precious to them, as they saw them as theirs to be claimed. Mahal crafted them from stone and it was Mahal’s children who should retrieve treasures from stone to make their Maker glad. Then, to make their Smith proud, they would shape them, then better them, and better them still, and better themselves as a result. They always strived to perfect, working for it their whole long lives as much as they could and taking pride in that as well. 

Thus, the realms of Aulë’s children were filled with things that dwarves considered beautiful: all kinds of objects exquisite in making, jewels shaped in all the ways imaginable, and metals used in ways only appropriate, especially mithril and gold... 

Thorin shuddered. Oh, _the gold_. 

Even though he refused to walk anywhere near the treasury, his thoughts still returned to the gold at times. His dreams were sometimes haunted by the memory of those mad hoards of treasure. He remembered how blinding was the gold’s glow in the light of torches. Almost burning, like a hearth that you stand too close to. Yet gold held no warmth in it, and the thought of how warm it seemed and how cold it actually was repulsed him. 

The grandeur of this kind appalled him now. After everything that had happened, he now understood that there was no actual warmth in hoarded treasure. 

Peace, a safe home filled with the laughter of your loved ones, good food and song – those were the things that should be valued above all else. Those were the treasures that brought true warmth with them, and it was the only kind of warmth Thorin now cared about, even if he could not truly feel it anymore.

Because Bilbo was not here. 

They had exchanged apologies and words of forgiveness and then the Hobbit had gone on his way. When a letter from Bilbo had arrived months later, talking about his uneventful journey and very much eventful arrival home, Thorin had never felt so bereft of joy. 

He knew he could carry on well enough, as could any dwarf who had ever had their love unreturned or unacknowledged. Still, it _hurt_.

It hurt with aching emptiness in his heart and coldness deep down to his very bones. It hurt with the wrenching pull of longing and memories of Bilbo, all breathtaking and bright, that stung bitterly. It hurt with dreams echoing of past happiness, which Bilbo had used to fill Thorin’s life with. It hurt with thoughts of the perfect treasure lost. 

At least he had this handkerchief, he mused. Not all of Bilbo had been lost to him. At least he had this little thing left.

It had to suffice. Bilbo might not come to Erebor ever again. 

Suddenly, there was knocking on the door of his study. Surprised, he looked at the clock on the wall, suspecting that his gloom thinking had got him late to a meeting with Bifur. When it turned out not to be true, he frowned. He expected no visitors at this early afternoon hour. With a displeased grunt, he folded the handkerchief and hid it in the breast pocket of his cloak. Only after doing so, he said, "enter."

Balin walked in and bowed. “Your Majesty.” 

“Balin, my friend,” Thorin greeted the old dwarf with a smile, “will you ever drop the titles in private?” 

“Not when the news I bring concerns your duties, my King,” Balin replied. 

Thorin shook his head fondly. “And what news do you bring?” 

“A caravan from the Blue Mountains has just arrived.”

Thorin let out a long breath, relieved to hear good news. The Mountain was not full yet, and there still was too much work to do with not enough hands. Newcomers were more than welcome. “I’m glad,” he said, “how many people have come?” 

“From what I’ve seen, about three dozen... but maybe you’d like to come and see for yourself? I’m sure they’d be most honoured.” There was a merry twinkle in Balin’s eyes that looked almost mischievous. 

Thorin squinted at him in suspicion. “What has got you so cheerful all of the sudden, dear friend? Is there something that I should know about?” 

Balin was grinning unabashedly now. “Oh indeed, there is.” 

“What is it then?” he demanded. 

Balin still grinned at him, completely unfazed by his snappish question. “I do recommend you come and see it for yourself. I’m afraid that no words can do it justice.” 

Thorin huffed in annoyance but went to the Front Gate with his advisor anyway. When they were getting closer to the main stairs leading down to the Gate, he could see the newcomers, who stopped their carts right after crossing the entrance. They seemed to be a group of merchants, likely from the Blue Mountains. 

He started walking down the stairs with Balin behind him. He now noticed that dwarves of all ages were in the group, with even two children among them. As he kept descending from the stairs, the hustle and bustle of the newcomers unpacking and organizing themselves started dying down, more and more dwarves of the group noticing his presence. Most of them were looking up at him now, and he tried to look everyone in the eye as he kept walking down, his gaze sliding from one person’s face to another. 

The world around him stopped when he laid his eyes on the face that he so loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A cliffhanger, haha! :D Don't you worry though, most of this fic is ready to go. Still, it's all turning out rather longish and I want to give myself enough time to finish everything up properly, so the update schedule will go like this: next chapter goes up tomorrow. Chapter 3 and 4, though, will show up in the two following weeks, one per week.
> 
> Anyway, what do you think about this chapter? The musings about dwarves striving for perfection are my own, I haven't checked it anywhere or anything. Are they on point or not really? Is this all right so far? Please give me your thoughts! :D


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wohoo, here we go, even more feels ahead! Enjoy! :3

He could hear nothing but the roaring sound in his ears and his vision narrowed to that one person, his One and only, right _there_. The creature of his dreams was so close, seemed so _real_. He froze and stared, wondering if this was some kind of a particularly cruel dream, not letting himself hope.

Oh, but this was no dream, he realized, for he could feel the wind and the sunlight coming from outside, tickling his skin. _This was no dream_. His heart began beating rapidly, almost making his head spin. He kept staring at the Hobbit, only now truly believing his eyes, and the joy of this realisation slowly started flooding in.

That was when that charming smile lit up Bilbo’s handsome face and Thorin was _mad_ about him all over again. He had to use all his willpower not to just run down the rest of the stairs and embrace the Hobbit. Thorin would run his hands through Bilbo’s curls and kiss his forehead and whisper thanks to Mahal for that _Bilbo_ _had come back, finally, he was back_ —

Balin cleared his throat behind him, making Thorin realise he must’ve been staring for a tad too long. He shook his head slightly, trying to clear his thoughts. He finally tore his eyes away from Bilbo and walked a few more stairs down, so that he wasn’t too far up from the group but still high enough that he could see everyone clearly.

He took a deep breath and spoke loudly, “Travellers, Erebor welcomes you!” The newcomers bowed deeply, including Bilbo, and it struck him as particularly strange that the Hobbit should bow. However, Thorin didn’t let his gaze linger on the Bilbo too long this time. He went on, “those of you who have come to join their families, I’m sure you know where to go. Those of you who have come to settle alone, be sure to visit the Obsidian Hall. That is where newcomers can get help in finding work and residence. Guilds look for new members there, too. For now, though, rest after your journey and rejoice, for your coming will be a great aid in establishing Erebor back to her full glory!”

The group raised a cheer, which made Thorin smile. As soon as the noise died down, though, he dismissed the group with an inclination of his head and everyone resumed their unpacking. He was growing impatient, wishing to talk to Bilbo finally. 

Thankfully, Bilbo soon emerged from the midst of the group and started approaching Thorin. The King walked down the last few stairs and him and the Hobbit were almost standing face to face at last, but right then, a loud shout of two familiar voices could be heard.

“ _Bilbo_!”

Two flashes, one golden and one dark brown in colouring, bolted in Bilbo’s direction, and in the blink of an eye, the Hobbit was crushed into a hug by the princes.

“Fíli, Kíli!” he laughed and patted them on the backs, “oh lads, it’s so good to see you!”

When Fíli and Kíli released the Hobbit from their arms, the whole Company appeared, and the King watched each of his friends welcome Bilbo warmly. Ori and Bofur embraced him, others clapped him on the back or squeezed his shoulders. After everyone greeted the Hobbit, they stepped away, forming a semi-circle around him. They all looked to Thorin, and Bilbo understood the clue. He turned to the King and crossed the short distance remaining between them. 

At last, Bilbo stood before him.

Thorin’s gaze roamed over the Hobbit hungrily, noting every little detail. Bilbo appeared travel-worn but otherwise seemed to be in good health; he’d put on some weight, his hair was shiny and his comely face wasn’t changed. 

His clothes, suited for travel, were in good condition as well. They made Bilbo look good, too, for they were clearly no cheap garments, tailored in fitting cut and colours. Overall, the Hobbit made a truly fetching picture, one that Thorin’s eyes could not stop feasting upon.

The silence between them stretched, however, and the air around was becoming tense because of it. Bilbo’s fingers began twitching and he smiled nervously. Before the King could speak up and say anything to end the awkwardness, though, Bilbo bowed for the second time.

“Your Majesty,” he said, his voice a bit strained.

“Master Baggins,” was all Thorin managed to reply, as he was too unsettled after seeing Bilbo bow before him again. It had felt utterly wrong. 

Bilbo sighed, giving the King that annoyed ‘ _oh none of that’_ look, “it’s just Bilbo, remember?”

Thorin inclined his head and answered, “then you bow to no one here, Bilbo.”

A look of protest settled on Bilbo’s face and the Hobbit seemed like he wanted to respond, but at that moment, someone behind them shouted, “mister Underhill, my arse!” It was one of the newcomers, a red-haired dwarf with a strong voice. He went on, speaking loudly, “Knew the little bugger was hiding something! Can you believe it, folks? We travelled with the legendary Burglar all this time _and_ _had no idea_!”

Bilbo was now grinning from ear to ear, although he didn’t turn around to look at his fellow traveller. “Oh stuff it, Tûz!” the Hobbit shouted back, yet his gaze remained on Thorin, “I thought your mother taught you not to eavesdrop!”

The group erupted into a roar of laughter and everyone in the Company chuckled, too. Thorin, though, barely paid attention to any of this, as Bilbo hadn’t ceased looking at him, and he could feel himself slowly drowning in those eyes, both gentle and steely. How he missed them and their kind gaze, how he missed Bilbo and his softness, now that the Hobbit was here Thorin could never—

“You travelled under a fake name?” Ori’s question made their eye contact finally break.

Bilbo blinked, shook his head slightly, and turned to Ori. “Ah, yes,” he said, “Mister Drogo Underhill, at your service.” He bowed playfully, making some of the Company chuckle again.

“Why would you do that?” Nori asked.

Bilbo cleared his throat. “Well, when I joined this _oh so merry_ gathering...” he spoke loudly enough for the group behind to hear, earning himself both some laughs and grumbles from his companions, “... I had no idea of what reputation was my name among dwarves. It was just a precaution.”

“Bilbo, but don’t you know?” Fíli chimed in, “your name is highly esteemed!”

“Oh, I did find out about that at some point,” Bilbo replied, “but it was well into the journey and it would’ve been rather awkward to admit that I had been lying to them all long-”

“Why didn’t warn us that you were coming, though?!” Dori exclaimed, “we’re awfully unprepared! This won’t do, a guest such as you should be received properly!”

This statement was followed by a couple of _ayes_ from the Company.

“Well, I wanted it to be a true surprise!” He put his hands on his hips. “But you lot spoiled it quite a bit, anyway. It was me who was supposed to find you, not the other way around! How come you knew of my arrival so soon?”

Everyone turned to Balin.

“It was one of the guards on the Gate!” the royal advisor answered, a touch indignantly, “he, just by passing, mentioned something that he’d deemed curious: his relatives were to come today and they had written to him from Dale, telling him of the time of their arrival and the such, adding that there was a Halfling coming with them! You can’t blame me for my curiosity. When the group was a league away, I used my spying glass and saw none other than Bilbo! So I sent out messengers to find everyone and have them come at once, then went to fetch Thorin.”

As everything made sense now, all eyes rested on Bilbo again. Thorin had to stop himself from staring at the Hobbit like a starving man again. Instead, he only took note of that their unexpected guest seemed to be growing rather weary, as he was only wont after finally reaching the destination of such a long journey. 

Therefore, Thorin said, “I’m sure Bilbo would like to rest after his travels now. A guest room in the royal wing can be easily arranged.” He looked at Balin, who nodded. He then addressed the whole Company, a smile growing on his face, “and in the evening... how about a feast in the King’s Dining Hall, my friends?”

Their excited cheer said it all.

***

“Is he _truly_ the One?”

Thorin smirked, knowing just what his sister was thinking.

Bilbo had been at the receiving end of Dís’s assessing and wary gaze all evening. Their introduction had gone as well as one could expect: Bilbo had been polite and Dís had been unimpressed without hesitating to show it. 

The Hobbit now sat between Dwalin and Bifur, somewhere around the middle of the long table, and was laughing at something Dwalin had just said. His merriment and the general joy of the whole Company (plus Glóin’s and Bombur’s families, who were also present) were a sight to behold.

Yet Bilbo was also rather uneasy, and Thorin could see it, although he had to admit that the Hobbit hid it well. Still, Bilbo’s fingers kept fiddling with the hem of his jacket whenever he noticed Dís’s stare on him.

Thorin turned his head to Dís sitting beside him. With a raised eyebrow, he asked her, “what makes you think he isn’t?”

“He just seems so...”

“Unassuming?”

“Plain.”

He glared at her.

“What?!” she exclaimed defensively, “as well as I know you, you must’ve had such thoughts too! You’re the King of Durin’s Folk! He’s just a halfling-”

“Hobbit,” he corrected and, seeing her questioning look, added, “he’s not a half of anything. His folk prefers to be called hobbits.” Dís bowed her slightly in agreement. Thorin leaned towards her and spoke in a low voice, “and this hobbit has earned himself the place in the King’s heart. There’s nothing _just_ about him.”

Dís leaned away and watched him closely, surprise clear in her bright eyes. “So it seems,” she murmured.

“I know you likely look down on him now. I can bet you ask yourself: is it truly the Bilbo Baggins whom I heard so much about? Did this creature truly face Smaug and accomplish so many other things that they tell tales of?” Her huff was an answer enough. She turned away from him but Thorin carried on, “don’t let your pride fool you, Dís. Dís, look at me,” he said sternly. Her stormy gaze rested on him sharply. Had Thorin not known his sister for the whole of her life, he sure would be cowered by this stare. “Don’t let it blind you. Not in this, not _ever_.” The look in her eyes softened considerably. “I know we are Durins. We _are_ proud. Yet, when Gandalf warned me that it would be my downfall, I didn’t listen. You know where it led me. I even laid a hand on my heart’s chosen, with the full intention of... of _killing him_ ,” the last two words he choked out, for he was still barely able to admit to this crime out loud.

Dís put a hand on Thorin’s forearm, her eyes now full of warmth. “He told you that you had his forgiveness, did he not?” she spoke gently.

“He said so indeed. What he truly feels, though, I don’t know.”

“What about you?”

“Me?” He stared at her dumbly, taken aback. It was not often that someone asked him about his feelings. 

“Have you forgiven him the theft?” she questioned, her gaze searching.

“I...” he paused, looking back at Bilbo, who had changed seating. He was now talking to Bombur’s children. Judging by the Hobbit’s avid gesticulation, he was telling them a story about some adventure, and the sight warmed Thorin to his very heart. “I did tell him back then that I had forgiven him,” he said, turning back to his sister, “although I hadn’t let go of how it’d hurt me, back then. But it doesn’t anger me anymore.” He let out a long breath. “I have forgiven him, truly. Now I just wish it was the same with him.”

She squeezed his forearm. The lines of her face were now softened with compassion. Quite a sight she made, with light blue crystals in her jewellery and beard. They reflected the light brightly, standing out against her dark brown hair and accenting the colour of her eyes in a stunning way. A true Queen, she was, and it made Thorin’s heart swell with pride. “All will be well, I’m sure of it,” she said.

He shot her a slight smile and took her hand in his, looking her in the eye intently. “I will not ask you to trust him just yet. I just ask you to give him a chance. Try to get to know him.” He let go of her hand and smirked. “ _And_ try to approve of him.” 

Dís smirked back. “If _you_ trust him, _of all people_ , why shouldn’t I?” With that, she stood up from her seat and marched right up to Bilbo, startling the Hobbit quite a lot. She joined him and the dwarflings, and Bilbo continued his storytelling, albeit a bit cautiously, appearing rather baffled at Dís’s presence. Fíli and Kíli, upon witnessing this, rushed to sit with their mother with the happiest grins on their faces. They sat at her knees, as they had used to when they had been younger, and Dís started running her hands through her sons’ hair while listening to Bilbo’s tale.

Thorin could not stop chuckling fondly as he observed everything unravel.

All would be well. 

***

He stroked handkerchief with his hands before going to bed that night. He would often do this before sleep, yet this time, he felt no longing. Seeing Bilbo and being around him had soothed his aching heart, at least for now. There was, however, some strange itching underneath his skin, as well as slight burning in his chest. A new kind of desire had arisen in him, it seemed.

Now that he had Bilbo in Erebor, he wanted to be _closer_ to the Hobbit. So close that Thorin could touch him, touch him to no end, touch Bilbo everywhere and in all the ways the Hobbit would find pleasurable. They would have to be up all night until Thorin could drink his fill and...

He took a sharp breath, fighting the sweet calling of such fantasies. If Bilbo was to tempt him this way during his whole stay, however long that could be, perhaps his arrival was not a blessing from Mahal but another test the Maker was putting him through.

With a sigh, Thorin laid the handkerchief on his bedside table. The little thing couldn’t truly ease his hurt then and it still couldn’t satisfy him now.

And yet, it again had to suffice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, don't get me wrong, I'm an absolute Dís stan. Yet, in my mind, she has good reasons not to be enthusiastic about Bilbo: she has seen how Thorin suffers because of him. I think she also would be proud and suspicious like her brother. Her trust and respect are not won that easily, but when you do manage that, you don't ever lose her loyalty. Don't worry, anyway, all will be well!
> 
> Soo, what are your thoughts on this chapter? Is this ok so far? :D 
> 
> (Chapter 3 will appear around next Thursday, btw.)


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello folks! :D Thank you so much for your comments and kudos, they keep me going! <3 
> 
> This chapter includes: a pinch of bothersome nephews, a hell lot of pining and Thorin being his Dramatic Bitch self.
> 
> Enjoy! :3

“So, Bilbo,” Kíli spoke up conversationally, “when are you leaving?”

The sounds of cutlery died down and Thorin’s private dining room filled with silence. The Durins had been eating breakfast together with Bilbo and, up to this point, the meal had passed in a pleasant atmosphere.

Now Thorin had to resist the urge to bash his head against the nearest wall. He thought it obvious that one didn’t ask a guest such a thing _a day after their arrival_. Apparently though, his younger nephew, a prince might he add, had still a lot to learn about manners.

He shot his sister _a look_ , but she just glared at him in return.

Thankfully, Bilbo had the grace to respond with humour. “Why, do you want me gone so soon?” he joked.

Poor Kíli, bless him, actually paled a bit. “No!” he denied, shaking his head vehemently, “of course not! I, I’d actually hate for you to go anytime soon! I’m asking this because I want to prepare myself, sort of, I,” he took a quick breath and continued his astonishingly rapid babbling, “I want to know for how long we can enjoy your company here and-”

“Peace, Kíli, peace,” Bilbo chuckled, “I was just teasing! And to answer your question, I don’t really have plans on that. As long as you would have me, I suppose. Or until next spring at least, if I may.” He directed a questioning gaze at the King.

Meanwhile, Thorin’s mind whirled. So long! It was only mid-autumn now, and Bilbo wanted to throughout the whole winter. _Of course_ he agreed. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you wish, Bilbo,” he told the Hobbit, who smiled brightly, and the sight stunned Thorin into silence. 

“How great!” Fíli spoke up then, thank Mahal, “but since you’ll be staying for so long, Bilbo, you’ll need better quarters!”

“Oh no, there’s no need, my room is perfectly agreeable-”

“How about quarters with a terrace and windows?” Fíli suggested, “from what I remember, Hobbits enjoy sunlight and fresh air.”

“W-well, that’s true but... do you really have such rooms in the mountain?”

“Actually, yes, there are such rooms vacant in our Mountain, aren’t they, uncle?” Fíli said and _smirked_ at him.

Thorin grandmother’s rooms.

Damn the boy. He and Dís, who sat next to her older, were now looking at Thorin with exact same smirks and identical eyes, light blue and twinkling with mischief. Oh damn that boy. His mother’s son, indeed.

“Yes, there are,” Thorin answered and, seeing Bilbo’s confusion, went on to explain, “they belonged to my grandmother. She enjoyed being inside the Mountain just as she liked being outside of it. She would always say that nothing cleared her mind better than a fresh breeze and the light of the Sun.”

Bilbo blinked, as if still not quite believing his ears. “And you are sure that I can live in her rooms?”

“Absolutely,” Dís replied at once and both her sons nodded with much enthusiasm, the whole three thus earning themselves a glare from Thorin.

Because there would be gossip. Putting Bilbo in rooms which belonged to the royal family would basically tell everyone that the royals saw the Hobbit as their kin. I would seem just as if Bilbo had married into their family.

There would be so much gossip.

“That would be splendid, truly,” Bilbo said, his whole demeanour almost buzzing with barely-concealed excitement, “could I, Thorin? Could I really?”

How could Thorin disagree when Bilbo was looking at him like that?

***

During the following days, Bilbo started settling in well. He busied himself with arranging his new rooms fully to his liking and making plans about setting up a garden on the terrace as soon as spring would come.

The Hobbit had also become something of a sensation among the inhabitants of the Lonely Mountain. Being the only one of his race living in Erebor (and the legendary Burglar), everybody was curious about him. Nobles invited him over for dinners and some of his former fellow travellers sustained friendship with him. As tight as his schedule would often be, though, Bilbo always managed to find time for his friends from the Company, including the King.

Thorin and Bilbo were sometimes able to have breakfasts or dinners together, often with Dís and the boys as well. Thorin always looked forward to those meals, as they were a blessed time of relaxation in the whirl of his duties. He cherished especially those rare occasions when he and Bilbo were left alone. He had the Hobbit's company all to himself then and it was always a great company to be in. At least to Thorin it was so, for Bilbo treated him as he always had: a friend, not a king.

After some overcoming some initial awkwardness, their friendship was blooming. It appeared that Bilbo truly didn’t hold Thorin’s deed at the gates against him. Maybe it wasn’t forgotten, but it seemed truly forgiven, and the air between them was clear. Friendly. With no noticeable inclination for anything more on Bilbo's part.

And yet. Thorin could not stop the itching underneath his skin. The urge to touch Bilbo, the need have the Hobbit all to himself. The burning of sheer want in his chest got more searing around the Hobbit, but he was only ever left wanting, never sated with how much of Bilbo he could have.

The handkerchief didn't help at all. It usually only fuelled his fantasies.

The King found himself debating what to do with the little thing often these days. He was half-tempted to toss it away but also hated the thought of parting with it. Sometimes he fancied the notion of returning it to Bilbo, but then, what explanation would he have for keeping it for so long? He would have to reveal his feelings and he hated _that_ thought so much more. He could not bear the idea of baring his heart. In this one thing, he allowed himself not to be brave, even if it meant carrying on like this. He knew he would endure it anyway. 

Mahal was definitely testing his limits, though. 

Thorin frequently wondered why Bilbo had come to Erebor so soon after the Quest, and to stay for so long. Not to torment him, for sure, but what for really? After all, he had longed for his home in the kindly West all throughout their journey. 

Why would he want to carve a home for himself in the Mountain?

  
***

“You never said why you’ve come.”

Bilbo looked up at him in surprise. “Well, you never asked,” he answered with a shrug, his eyes returning to his book.

“I am asking now.”

He knew it might be strange to do so out of the blue three weeks after Bilbo’s arrival. Still, curiosity had got better of him.

The Hobbit’s eyes were on Thorin again. Bilbo raised one eyebrow and answered, a small smirk on his lips, “I’ve gathered.”

Thorin sighed in irritation, making Bilbo chuckle. The Hobbit closed the book in his lap and spoke, “Well, I’ve come here because... some time after I went back home, my smial started feeling awfully lonely. I realised that it was too quiet and peaceful for me. Empty, even. I missed having my dwarf friends around, wreaking havoc in my pantries, getting on my nerves and making me feel at home.”

Those words warmed Thorin to his very heart and he was helpless against the smile that started creeping up his face. “I’m very glad you’re here, Bilbo,” he said.

“I am glad too,” the Hobbit replied quietly. He looked into the King’s eyes and Thorin was again slowly drowning in Bilbo’s gaze. The light of the fire they were sitting close by brightened the Hobbit's eyes, turning them into a stunning myriad of colours. Thorin was captivated. He kept gazing into Bilbo’s eyes, powerless, feeling the familiar heat start burning within him. It became like a wave, flooding his whole body, making his breath hitch with _want_.

Right then Bilbo jerked in his seat, breaking the eye contact, somehow abashed. The Hobbit cleared his throat and put the book on the coffee table and reached for the teacup hastily. Unfortunately, he tipped it over and the tea spilled over the table.

“Oh blast it!” he exclaimed angrily, the too loud cry filling the room. Thorin stood up to help, but Bilbo waved his hand. “I’ve got it,” the Hobbit said, pulling out a handkerchief outside of a pocket of his jacket. He wiped the table with the cloth carefully.

“You don’t run out of handkerchiefs now, do you?” Thorin joked, trying to ease the tension.

Bilbo shook his head with a chuckle. “Indeed, I do not.” Bilbo finished wiping the table and straightened up, a puzzled frown on his face. “Though, a strange thing, I actually lost a handkerchief during the Quest, can you believe it?”

Thorin tried very hard to appear genuinely surprised. “How so?” he asked, “you set out of your home without one.”

“Yes, yes.” Bilbo gestured in the air, as if he wanted to physically brush Thorin’s words away, which the King found awfully endearing for some reason. ”But during our stay in the Master’s House in Lake Town... do you remember how sick I was? I kept sneezing every two minutes or so, I swear! One of the women who served food to us took pity on me and gave me a handkerchief. It was a lovely gift, actually, and I’m still ashamed that I misplaced it somehow. I suppose I must’ve left it somewhere after the Battle.”

Thorin had to let out a small, breathy laugh. It was a great relief to finally have an answer to this question after for so long. With this wave of good humour, Thorin came up with a silly thing to say, “maybe it’s stayed here this whole time and it’s going to return to you?” 

Bilbo laughed out loud, not unkindly, just in clear surprise. “Oh, how funny would that be! I can imagine that, the handkerchief unexpectedly appearing on my bed as if it was some Gandalf’s wizardry tricks!”

Thorin chuckled, a rather foolish idea forming in his mind.

  
  
***

Erebor never truly went to sleep.

The forges kept working ceaselessly, as did some other places in the Mountain. The kingdom didn’t exactly adhere to time dictated by the Sun outside, anyway. 

However, there were still some times throughout the day when there was a general lull in activity in the Mountain, and now was one of such hours. The majority of Erebor’s citizens were resting or asleep.

Their King was not. 

He wandered through the empty halls of the royal wing. He had chosen to go for a walk in order to rid his mind of thoughts about work. He had been poring over agreements and treaties for too long. Even though most of those papers had been drawn up under Balin's supervision, Thorin still wished to know what he was to sign. It was always better to know of as much of his kingdom's whereabouts as possible, even at the cost of sleep.

Still, he needed some break and rest. Some good sleep. 

The latter refused to come many nights. Most nights, in truth, since always. 

He stopped walking and let out a long breath, brushing a hand over his face. Almost unconsciously, he reached to his breast pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. When looking down at the little thing, he had to smile. He couldn't help but recall "the handkerchief conversation" he had had with Bilbo two days ago. He crumpled the cloth in his fist and stroked the material with his thumb while he resumed his walk. He busied his mind with thoughts of a pleasant kind now, namely, the kind which involved wondering how Bilbo's hair would feel to the touch. 

In the corner of his eye, he saw that he was passing the King's Dining Hall, its door open and revealing a lone figure standing by the barely burning hearth. 

He stopped short. After putting the handkerchief back in his breast pocket, he entered the dimly lit Hall. Curiously, the person by the fire, with their back to the door, didn't stir, for some reason not hearing his approach. As he was getting closer, he discovered that it was none other than Bilbo himself. 

“Bilbo,” Thorin called, making the Hobbit jump up, “what has you up?”

“Oh goodness me,” Bilbo breathed out, holding a hand to his chest, “you scared me, Thorin.”

“My apologies,” the King answered as he stopped by Bilbo's side, then couldn’t refrain from adding, “although sneaking up on a hobbit is no small feat, I have a reason to take pride.”

Bilbo chuckled. “Indeed, that is a true accomplishment! You had it easy, though, Master Dwarf,” he added jokingly, "I wasn't vigilant at all." 

Thorin smirked. “Why was that so, Master Hobbit? How come you allowed yourself such a thing, inside a mountain full of brutish dwarves?”

Bilbo giggled at that, and the melodious sound together with the sight of the Hobbit’s bright smile made warmth explode in Thorin’s chest.

"I could ask you the same thing, you know," the Hobbit answered with a teasing smile, "but assuming that you've stayed up because of work is usually a good enough guess." He shot Thorin a knowing (and disapproving) look and The King only bowed his head, not denying anything. Bilbo chuckled and went on, “as for me, I guess I was lost in thought. Or lack of sleep doesn’t do me well. Or both.”

Immediately, Thorin frowned in worry. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh no, nothing’s wrong really! It’s just, well...” Bilbo sighed. “You see, apparently my hobbit hearing is actually a nuisance when I’m here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, ever since I’ve arrived I don't sleep enough. Whenever I lay down in my bed, all I hear are those strange tiny sounds coming from the walls. There’s constantly some quiet cracking and the sounds of rubble moving, some scratching too. Perhaps that in itself wouldn’t be all that but, to my ears, those sounds have an eerie tone to them. All of this somehow... unsettles me.”

Thorin couldn’t help but smile. “So you can hear the Mountain singing?”

Bilbo blinked. “So this is what it’s doing? Singing? Is the Mountain somehow... alive?”

“We dwarves like to think her to be alive,” Thorin answered, “the stone of the Mountain cracks and moves all the time in different locations, and the sounds it then makes carry through it. Sometimes the Mountain makes more sounds than usual, for example when a cave-in happens somewhere. Sometimes she is quieter. Still, she sings to us without ceasing.” He paused and listened in. No dwarf paid much attention to the sounds of stone at all times. It was usually a comforting background sound that made one feel at home, like the crackling of a hearth usually made men feel at peace. After listening for a few moments, Thorin said, “she seems rather calm now.”

“Well, this is all very fascinating,” Bilbo replied with no apparent dishonesty, “but it still keeps me up. It just sounds too strange to me,” he grumbled.

Thorin grinned openly now, suddenly overcome with a surge of fondness for Bilbo’s grouchy demeanour. “Stone of every mountain peak or mountain range has a distinct sound to it," he explained, "the Lonely Mountain tends to make sounds that are higher-pitched. It resembles a voice of a female, that is why we think of the Mountain as a she.”

“Oh." Bilbo cocked his head to the side and turned his thoughtful gaze towards the hearth. "That is actually so... lovely.”

Thorin chuckled and said nothing more. Silence lingered between them as they stared into the flames, standing side by side, enjoying the peace and quiet. After some time, Thorin spoke up in a hushed tone, “try to think of those sounds as a mother’s lullaby. Try to let them soothe you.”

The Hobbit nodded and replied softly, “all right, I'll try.” Just then Bilbo had to stifle a yawn behind his hand, almost making Thorin scream how dared he look just so _adorable_ when doing it. “Oh, I’m sorry. It seems I may get some sleep after all,” he said apologetically.

“You should go,” Thorin answered simply, “sweet dreams, Bilbo. May the Mountain’s singing put you to sleep.”

Bilbo shot him a slight smile. “Thank you, and try to go to sleep too,” he said and turned to head out. Just then he appeared to have some thought occur to him and froze. He turned back to Thorin and murmured, “although, though be told... it’s always been your singing that soothed me the best. Goodnight.”

Thorin, too stunned to say anything, only stared after the Hobbit and watched him leave.

Good night indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What inspired me to write the last scene, with the Mountain's singing, was the fact that, apparently, ice makes sounds, and those sounds are just so strange, both really unsettling and soothing. Here's a youtube video of 2 hours of "singing ice", I recommend checking it out:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qd-CwJa1SHE  
> So, after listening to that video, it occurred to me that stone is likely to make sounds too. I also assumed that they would sound similar to sounds of ice and that Bilbo would be unsettled by them. But he knows just what he needs to soothe him ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) 
> 
> Anyway, what are your thoughts on this chapter and this story so far? :D
> 
> (Chapter 4 will appear next weekend, around Saturday/ Sunday).


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, everyone, we've arrived!
> 
> Sorry this update comes so late (the last minutes of Sunday xD), but I'm after a hellish week and had time to sit down and write in peace only today in the afternoon. Hope I haven't screwed this chapter in those few hours that I could devote to finishing it (or actually writing half of it lmao).
> 
> Anyway, here's what awaits you: Dís to the rescue (kind of), Thorin reaching his peak of Dumb, and things finally coming to a head! 
> 
> Enjoy! :3

Thorin II Oakenshield of the line of Durin, King Under the Mountain, was _not_ nervous. If his hands gripping his harp had a bit of a twitch to them as he walked through the halls of the royal wing, then it was no one’s business. Maybe it was possible that he was slightly anxious. _Slightly_.

We was to sing for Bilbo, after all.

In hindsight, this had not been a good idea. He shouldn’t have blurted it out yesterday, out of the sudden, when talking to Bilbo about some subject completely unrelated to singing. Still, he had been thinking about this ever since their talk about the Mountian’s singing a fortnight ago. The prospect of witnessing the effect his singing had on Bilbo had been simply too tempting. He had had to suggest it.

The Hobbit had seemed bewildered to hear such an offer, but then had agreed to it, in a way somehow restrained. Perhaps he had said yes only out of politeness. Or had already guessed Thorin’s feelings at that moment?

This was a bad idea.

As he turned the corner of the quiet hall, he almost walked into _his sister_ , of all people.

Such a bad idea.

Truly, this was just the luck of one Thorin Oakenshield: _of all the moments to stumble upon her-_

“My King Thorin.” She bowed, as she never forgot to show him appropriate respect in public. When she straightened up, she looked her brother up and down, and frowned upon noticing the harp in his hands. “What are you doing?” she asked him.

“None of your business, _dear sister_ ,” he ground out and tried to make his way past her, but she grabbed him by the shoulder, holding him firmly in place. She then looked him in the eye, her gaze intense and searching. “Are you going to Bilbo?”

In his mind, Thorin cursed her for knowing him far too well. On the outside, he tried to keep his expression neutral, but _of course_ Dís saw something in his face that gave him away anyhow, and said quietly, “please tell me you’re going to confess.”

Thorin managed to free his shoulder from her strong grasp and looked around to see if there was anyone nearby. After making sure that they were alone, he turned back to her with a glare and answered, “I have no such plans.” He made an attempt to walk away, but she moved to stand in his way and pinned him in place with her concerned stare that had always been formidable, for she had this overbearing and fierce way of worrying for others.

“Thorin,” she said, “don’t do this to yourself.”

He scowled at her. “This is not a matter which you should meddle in, Dís”

“I should and I will!” she raised her voice angrily, “I will not watch my brother suffer so, and it’s completely unnecessary too!”

Thorin snorted. “How can this be _unnecessary_?” he sneered.

She replied in a furious low voice, “you asked me to get to know your Hobbit, and I have. I’ve spent time with him and talked to him and I _know_ him now. I _know_ he’ll not mock you. He’s not cruel _and_ he’ll not reject you, as I have a pretty good suspicion he feels the same. You’ll lose nothing-” 

“Nothing?” he spat, “I would never call his friendship that.” He exhaled slowly to calm himself down. Looking away from her, he spoke quietly, “I will not risk what I have, Dís.”

“Thorin,” she replied, gently now, “this is not you. You often risk, even if it’s mad. The whole Quest was mad, and look at you now!”

“And yet, the shame I feel when I think that he may not have me is greater than what the shame I felt when I feared the Quest would fail,” he said, his shoulders sagging.

Immediately, Dís bristled. “Who would not want you?” she demanded, “but you’re _King_.”

“By now you should know that hobbits care nothing for such things,” he answered while raising a questioning eyebrow at her, and the look that dawned on her face showed that she realised the error in her hurried words. Thorin shook his head and allowed himself to say what he feared the most, “if he’d care for me at all, then it would be for who I am as a person, and the thought that he may not want me for me is what I can’t stand.”

Dís gasped quietly. “Oh Thorin-”

“Just go, Dís,” he cut her short, “leave me be.”

She growled but stepped away. Measuring Thorin with a stern gaze, she had to have the last word. “Unknown are Mahal’s designs, brother,” she said, “yet, after everything, I think he’s been kind to you. You may have a person who can love you only for yourself, not at all your wealth and power.” She smiled softly. “You deserve nothing less.”

She then bowed and walked away.

  
***

He had planned to sing a different song. He _had_.

Yet, when he pulled at the strings of his harp and the sweet melody filled the room, Dís’s words sprung to his mind.

_Don’t do this to yourself._

Perhaps he indeed shouldn’t.

He had told Bilbo that the song would be in Khuzdul, so what was the harm? The Hobbit would not understand a word of it, anyway, and Thorin would actually _let it out_.

So he sang.

It was his favourite story as a dwarfling – the song of Narvi.

He sang about Narvi’s loneliness, and it was a feeling he knew. He sang of Narvi’s anguish when he discovered that the only one he could love was a she-elf. He sang of Narvi’s immense effort to please the One of his heart and his happiness when his courtship was accepted. He sang of it with longing, wishing to know Narvi’s joy, imagining that Bilbo would make him just as happy. He sang, thinking of how much he would give just to know how Narvi felt when marrying his One, imagining how he would become the luckiest dwarf alive if he, too, could marry his heart’s chosen.

His heart’s chosen, who now sat opposite him and observed him with wide eyes. There was a trace of some deep emotion in his eyes that Thorin could not decipher. Or perhaps it was just a trick of the light.

Thorin sang for some time, for the song was long, letting the sounds of his harp soothe him. Bilbo appeared to be enjoying it, too, and when the song finally finished, a relaxed silence fell between them.

Bilbo was the first to speak. “That was...” Bilbo cleared his throat. “Beautiful. Khuzdul sounds so well, somehow, in these halls.”

Thorin inclined his head in agreement. “Khuzdul was given to us by our Maker, it is only fitting that it should be spoken and sung amidst stone.”

“Especially when sung in a voice beautiful like yours,” Bilbo said, looking into Thorin’s eyes with a small smile.

Thorin would never admit it to any soul, living or dead, that the praise made him flush. He cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he answered, “I take it that you’ll have no trouble falling asleep, then?”

Bilbo chuckled. “Actually, the Mountain’s sounds don’t scare me anymore.”

Thorin smiled slightly. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“And I’m glad you sang to me,” Bilbo said, “it was beautiful, truly. Thank you.” The last two words were said in such earnest that it made Thorin freeze.

“Anything,” the King answered, meaning it just as much.

Later, after he left Bilbo’s quarters, he was hit by the realisation that the Hobbit had not asked what the song was about.  
  


***

  
It was rather fortunate that Bilbo had planned to spend the next day in Dale. He set out in the morning together with the princes and they were to come back in the evening, which allowed Thorin to return the handkerchief.

He went to Bilbo’s rooms and laid it on the Hobbit’s bed, like they had joked some time ago.

He had kept the little thing for far too long, anyway. Bilbo needed to have it now. He would have to come to Thorin for some kind of explanation, and Thorin would give it to him.

Thorin’s “confession” yesterday had felt like a dam breaking inside him. He had to let it all go, for better or for worse.

Still, the wait for Bilbo’s rejection or acceptance filled him with anxiousness throughout the day.

It was, therefore, rather fortunate indeed that his duties kept him very busy, taking his thoughts off wondering about what was to come. 

  
***

He did not expect Bilbo to come to his chambers that very day.

He was sitting by the table in his dining room, finishing his very late supper, and was about to call for a maid to come and collect the dishes, when there was a knock on the door. He blinked in surprise but allowed the person to enter. Instead of a clever servant, however, one of the guards of his quarters came in.

The dwarf bowed deeply. “Your Majesty,” he said, “master Bilbo Baggins wishes to see you.”

Thorin’s heart sunk. He cleared his throat to hide his unease and told the guard to let the Hobbit in. He stood up from his seat and waited by the table for Bilbo to walk in. When that happened, one look at Bilbo’s firm expression made Thorin’s blood freeze in his veins.

“Good evening,” the Hobbit greeted the King, his voice with that biting edge of cold, perfect politeness.

Thorin swallowed, suddenly unable to form any words. The door of the dining room shut as the guard left them alone and silence between them lingered for some time until Thorin could force himself to speak. “Good evening,” he said finally, “what brings you here?”

Bilbo pursed his lips and measured Thorin with a stern look that made the King feel cold down to his very bones. The Hobbit then pulled something out of a pocket of his trousers. The King knew very well what it was and it didn’t shock him at all when Bilbo raised the handkerchief up in the air for Thorin to see. “Am I going mad?” the Hobbit asked, sounding angry for some reason, and continued on before Thorin even managed to open his mouth to respond, “because, well, back in the Shire they actually nicknamed me Mad Baggins, and I would hate for it to actually ever become true.”  
  
“No, Bilbo,” Thorin answered with a heavy sigh, “this belongs to you. I apologize for the delay in giving this back to you.” 

Bilbo gaped at him. “Why, that’s quite some delay indeed!” he exclaimed incredulously, “all this time! How did you come by it? Why didn’t you give it back to me?” 

He pursed his lips and looked away. Mahal and Eru both be damned, this was proving to be much harder than he had imagined. Bilbo was not happy about his. This was going to hurt and Thorin felt so _cold_ already. Yet, in order to answer Bilbo’s questions, he had to make himself well and truly _vulnerable_.  
  
It was not what a warrior king did. This was not what a warrior king _was_.

He gripped the edge of the table and made himself look back at Bilbo. “You left it with me once, after the battle, and I knew you were going to leave,” he answered, keeping his voice as even as he could, “I took it because the handkerchief was all I had left of you.”

There. His feelings were now laid out bare. Apparently unwelcome. 

Bilbo gasped. “Thorin-” 

“Forgive me, Bilbo, I will not ask you of anything that you’re not willing to give. I just wish with all my heart that you agree to remain my friend-” 

“Thorin, what on Yavanna’s gardens are trying to say?!” Bilbo exclaimed, stunning Thorin into silence, “do be blunt, if you please! Just say what you feel, I cannot take this anymore!” the Hobbit let out a noise of frustration and plopped down on the sofa in front of the fireplace. “I-I can only hope that I know what you mean because...” Bilbo stared at the flames while toying with the handkerchief in his hands. His gaze was unseeing and he had gone silent.

“Bilbo?” Thorin prompted quietly.

“Yesterday when you sang to me,” Bilbo spoke after a moment, a bit too loudly, while still looking at the fire, “your voice did not soothe me, although it should have, it usually does. But back then... you sang with such sheer emotion and longing, and when you looked at me, oh how you looked at me!” He exclaimed while gesturing up in the air, appearing somehow annoyed, “I was anything but soothed!” 

Bilbo looked down at his hands, which were now again in his lap, his fingers resuming the nervous fiddling with the handkerchief. He sighed.

“The truth is that I-I have come t-to... love you, Thorin,” Bilbo said softly, making Thorin’s world rock to its foundations, “and at that moment it occurred to me that you might feel the same way.”   
  
Thorin could not recall how he found himself standing in front of Bilbo. His head was almost spinning and his heart was beating wildly, his chest full and his breath short because of sheer uncontained _joy_. Thorin looked down at the one who caused, but Bilbo’s gaze was set stubbornly downwards. He lifted the Hobbit’s chin up with his hand, wishing to see that beloved face fully. As their eyes met, Thorin noticed uncertainty in Bilbo’s gaze and smiled gently. “It was a song about love,” he murmured. 

“What?” Bilbo whispered. 

“I sang you the song of Narvi, a dwarf who loved a non-dwarf.” He finally, _finally_ found out just how silky Bilbo’s hair was to the touch as he tucked a strand of the Hobbit’s curls behind his ear. Bilbo shivered at the caress, making Thorin chuckle. He looked deep into the Hobbit’s eyes again and said, “Narvi loved outside of our race, just like I do.” 

Bilbo’s jaw almost dropped to the floor. His face changed expressions swiftly a few times until a look of utter _exasperation_ settled over the Hobbit’s features. He stood up abruptly, so close to Thorin that his body almost touched with the dwarf’s. 

“That! That’s-!” Bilbo exclaimed incredulously, “Thorin Oakenshield you absolute, impossible, daft -! How could you just! Sing _that_ and not-! Not even say _a_ _word!_ ”

Thorin couldn’t stop his smile from growing wider with each furious word the Hobbit uttered. When Bilbo was finished with his rant, Thorin, grinning like a fool he was sure, cupped Bilbo’s cheek in his hand and said, “my dearest burglar, but I said many words,” he chuckled at seeing the Hobbit’s confusion. He brushed his thumb under Bilbo’s eye, savouring the feel of such soft skin against his calloused finger. “A whole song, in fact, that helped me express my love for you.” 

Bilbo gaped at him incredulously and Thorin grinned again. 

“Oh you-!” Bilbo cried and surged forward, jumping right into Thorin’s arms, fitting just so _perfectly_. Their faces were now so close that their noses were brushing. “Oh you,” Bilbo whispered huskily, which made a shiver run down Thorin’s spine, and leaned in, finally sealing their mouths in a kiss.  
  


***

In the following years, the fondness that the Consort Under the Mountain held for a certain piece of cloth did not go amiss. He was seen carrying it everywhere with him and using it only with the utmost care, not letting anyone else touch it.

The Handkerchief was still not for washing, as the maids reported. Whenever any of them asked about it, the Consort would always answer that he would wash the cloth himself. The maids even said that at one point it had become a game of sorts; they would keep asking about washing the handkerchief every time it was possible, yet the Consort has refused on each and every occasion, perfectly politely, even with a smile, as if he had been aware of this game.

The Consort was very popular among the royal servants. Since they were in contact with him on a daily basis, they quickly had got to know him and had taken a liking to him thanks to his respectfulness combined with an occasional witty remark, and were ready to vouch for the Consort’s great character to anyone who doubted it.

At the beginning, when King Thorin’s courtship with Bilbo Baggins had been made public, there had been indeed many who had needed such convincing. Although the announcement itself had not been that much of a surprise (the Hobbit _had_ been living in Thrór wife’s quarters for half a year before that, after all!), there had been quite a few who could not believe it for some time. The Hobbit’s fitness to rule alongside the beloved King had been widely questioned.

Then the Hobbit had started fulfilling a consort’s duties.

Even though he had began doing so before the wedding, which had caused a bit of an uproar, it had resulted in most sceptic mouths getting shut. The Hobbit had started proving himself to be a great asset to the King. It had become clear that his heart was brave and true, and he had a good head on his shoulders. He had turned out to be especially good at dealings with other races and Erebor had profited from it handsomely.

And so, the general opinion about the Consort Under the Mountain has shifted to very much approving, although there were still a scarce few who believed the Consort unsuitable and the King mad. How could he not be, since he could look at someone outside his race in a way that stirred his heart? Those voiced were rare, however, and they were shushed vehemently, too. 

If any of this gossip ever reached the royal couple’s ears, then they did not show it. Instead, they seemed like a unity impossible to ever be swayed; always agreeing and supportive of each other. At least in public, as some dwarves liked to point out.

Still, the King and the Consort always made quite a sight indeed, dressed in their regalia, walking through the halls of their kingdom, the Consort’s hand always resting in the crook of the King’s elbow. They were usually engrossed in some quiet conversation and did not pay much attention to anything but themselves.

The citizens of Erebor liked to watch them on those walks, admiring how clear it was that they held love for each other. And so, the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain spoke about how the King and the Hobbit would look at each other, how they would make all those small gestures for one another, how they bickered and smiled when in each other’s company, and so on. It was not a bad thing that the dwarves spoke all about it, however.

After all, it was a truth well known that any king was constantly talked about by the whole of his kingdom, just like the king’s spouse, if he had one, and no other was the case with Thorin II Oakenshield, of the line of Durin, and his Consort, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too sappy? Too fluffy? I'm sorry, sir, I don't know what those words mean. Happy Bagginshield is my medicine. 
> 
> The song of Narvi that I mentioned in this chapter was created by the awesome Porphyrios in their fic "Crown of Teeth, Heart of Flesh". The story of Narvi is told in chapter 14, here's the link:  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/21436309/chapters/52565452  
> I highly recommend reading the whole fic, though, it's really, reeeeaally good!
> 
> Thank you all for all your great comments and kudos, they kept me going! I'm suuper glad if you made it here <3 Please consider sharing some thoughts about the story with me! ;D


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